There have been speeches that move teams — a “Win one for the Gipper” speech from Knute Rockne, a “Miracle on Ice” speech from Herb Brooks — and then there are speeches that move mountains, and move us forever along with them.

Speeches that inspire sports teams, be they Notre Dame or the U.S. hockey team in Lake Placid, remind us nothing is impossible and impossible is nothing and any man and Everyman can be Rudy, or Rocky, or Cinderella Man; any team can be Hickory High.

But every once in a while, life’s realities and cruel fates conspire to shatter our fairy-tale heroes and force us to confront our own mortality as those we deemed indestructible or forever young are forced to confront theirs.

And every once in a while, when the magic sadly gives way to the tragic, we either learn about or witness with our own water-logged eyes such a triumph of the human spirit that we must pause to remember, even 75 July 4’s later.

Because there, on July 4, 1939, an emotional Lou Gehrig stood, this time as a broken-down Iron Horse, ravaged by ALS, his Hall of Fame career over at 36, never to wear No. 4 in pinstripes again, never to hit his 494th home run, summoning every ounce of courage and class and, of course, Pride of the Yankees, as he said goodbye to beloved teammates surrounding him on the field and 41,808 spellbound Yankee Stadium fans who could only wish there were some way to Wally Pipp this terrible disease:

“Fans, for the past two weeks,” Gehrig began, “you have been reading about the bad break I got.

“Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

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Remember, this was Cal Ripken Jr. long before Cal Ripken Jr., a man who played 2,130 consecutive games, a man of quiet dignity who, unlike Babe Ruth, walked softly and carried a big stick.

Gehrig went on: “I have been in ballparks for 17 years and have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans. Look at these grand men. Which of you wouldn’t consider it the highlight of his career just to associate with them for even one day?”

Ripken would break the consecutive-games mark on Sept. 7, 1995, at Camden Yards.

“Tonight, I stand here overwhelmed as my name is linked with the great and courageous Lou Gehrig,” Ripken would tell the crowd after the game. “I’m truly humbled to have our names spoken in the same breath.”

A baseball that Gehrig hit for a World Series home run in 1928 is on display at a convention center in Kansas City, Mo.Photo: AP

Gehrig was Derek Jeter long before Derek Jeter.

“What a wonderful fellow that Gehrig was! Always hustled. Never gave a moment’s trouble. Just went out every day and played his game and hit the ball,” said Gehrig’s final manager, Joe McCarthy.

The only speech that can rival Gehrig’s is Jim Valvano’s powerful 1993 ESPY speech. Valvano, ravaged by bone cancer, was helped up some stairs to the podium by Dick Vitale.

“Time is very precious to me,” Valvano began, “I don’t know how much I have left, and I have some things that I would like to say.”

His voice was strong. He smiled throughout. He employed humor. Applause frequently became his chorus. He implored all of us to laugh, to think, and to cry, every day of our lives. He announced the formation of the Jimmy V Foundation for cancer research and received the inaugural Arthur Ashe Courage and Humanitarian award.

“And its motto is Don’t Give Up, Don’t Ever Give Up,” Valvano said. “…I’m gonna fight my brains out to be back here again next year for the Arthur Ashe recipient, I want to give it next year.”

One last time to be Our Coach.

“Cancer can take away all my physical abilities,” he said. “It cannot touch my mind, it cannot touch my heart, and it cannot touch my soul. And those three things are gonna carry on forever. I thank you, and God bless you all.”

Babe Ruth and Gehrig.Photo: Anthony J. Causi

Vitale, Mike Krzyzewski and Joe Theismann helped Valvano down the steps. They were standing for him now, a room drenched in cheers and tears.

Less than two months later, Jim Valvano was gone at 47.

When the doubleheader against Washington ended, Gehrig walked out of Yankee Stadium with catcher Bill Dickey, and told his friend: “Bill, I’m going to remember this day for a long time.”

He died 23 months later, and he should rest in peace knowing that his day, Lou Gehrig Appreciation Day, when he was busy thanking everyone else for the memories, will be remembered forever.